


i can see us changing (like the seasons over time)

by hellstrider



Series: Long & Lost [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Guilt, LMAO, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magic, Marriage Proposal, Possessive Behavior, Some Plot, Something!Steve Harrington, Tender Sex, Witch!Billy Hargrove, Witches, fighting while fucking, more plot coming next time, mostly sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: "baby, are you -""currently lost as fuck in the middle of salem? yep."
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Long & Lost [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555963
Comments: 21
Kudos: 233





	i can see us changing (like the seasons over time)

**Author's Note:**

> more long & lost, rewritten from an ask prompt on tumblr,  
> i changed it to steve's pov 
> 
> title from ain't nobody by clare maguire
> 
> tumblr: billyhargrovens

_“Steve? What’s wrong? What_ happened _, did you call Hop, are you_ hurt _, who –“_

And Steve’s stupid heart goes _sideways_ at the sound of Billy’s voice, all _sleep-rough_ , kinda _harsh_ ; he hears the rustle of sheets, and his chest _hurts_ with how _bad_ he misses Billy, misses him like he’s lost a goddamn half of the heart that’s gone sideways just hearin’ his _voice,_

“Whoa, _whoa_ , tiger,” he says, and _yeah,_ it was probably a _stupid idea_ , calling Billy at _three in the fucking morning_ , but he’s - _God_ , he _misses Billy_ like he’s been _ripped in two_ , “I’m fine, I promise, I’m _just –“_

And he taps his fingers over the steering wheel of the Beemer as Billy huffs a sigh, and then there’s more rustling and the witch murmurs tiredly, “ _you’re just what, baby?”_ and,

“Lost,” Steve answers, and he’s on the side of some _backroad_ , ‘cause his GPS got _all_ fucked up and he doesn’t think the address Billy left scrawled on the fridge calendar is the _actual_ address of the – of his fucking _Coven_ , ‘cause Steve’s in love with a _witch,_

“ _The fuck you mean, Bambi?”_ Billy asks, and he’s a _nightmare_ when he gets woken up like this, Steve knows that, and he knows he probably almost lit somethin’ on fire when he saw Steve’s name on his phone at two in the fucking morning, _but,_

“Where are you?”

A pause,

Then; “ _the_ Coven _, Stevie, we’ve – it’s been on the calendar for a fuckin’_ month _, are you – are you sure you’re okay?”_

And Steve rubs a hand over his face, and he’s _exhausted_ , as exhausted as Billy _sounds_ , and he’s not making _any_ sense, and in the background of the call he can hear Fawcett trill,

“I _know,_ I know that – I _meant,”_ Steve taps the steering wheel; somewhere outside, an owl hoots, _“where?”_

And there’s another beat before Billy says, wryly, “ _baby, are you –“_

“Currently lost as fuck in the middle of Salem?” Steve chews his cheek, _“yep,”_ and,

_“Sweetheart,”_

_“Look_ , I know it’s your,” and Steve waves a hand even though Billy can’t see him, “ _witchy bonding getaway_ , or whatever, but I –“ he swallows thickly, suddenly feeling _stupid_ and _shy_ and _ridiculous,_ but he forces out a quiet, “I missed you,” anyways, _and,_

 _“Jesus, Bambi,”_ and Billy’s voice is _all_ sideways, matches Steve’s _stupid_ heart, _“I’ll drop a pin, baby, just – keep your eyes on the fuckin’ road, Harrington, you hear me? Don’t look at the map – just let the phone tell you where to go, I’ll make sure you find me, alright?”_

And sheer, absolute _relief_ sweeps hot and heavy through Steve as he breathes, “yeah, okay,” and Billy huffs a soft laugh, the kinda laugh that makes Steve’s gut _tight_ , and then his phone vibrates and Billy says, “ _c’mon, Cherry-bomb, come find me_ ,” and,

The road that leads him to Billy is long and winding, roves through the sheltering trees, and it’s about three in the morning by the time he’s pulling up an ambling driveway lined with huge, shadowy oaks, and the house at the end – _Jesus_ , it’s _magnificent_ , that old, gothic kinda house, with spiky spires atop the roof and windows wrapped in wrought iron,

And Steve puts the Beemer in park as his heart stuffs itself into his throat,

‘Cause on the huge, wraparound deck of the spiky, white, gothic house,

Leaning against one of the ivory pillars holding up the awning,

Smoking a cigarette,

Shirt half buttoned,

Golden curls pulled into a messy ponytail,

Is _one Billy Hargrove,_

And Steve’s stomach is full of feathers as he slides outta the Beemer, and Billy’s crushing the cigarette out under a heel as a soft trill fills the air, and then there’s Fawcett, and she lands elegantly on her master’s shoulder, and Steve can feel the soft furl of her soothing soul, the soul caught in the steel case of Billy’s bones,

And he _kinda,_

 _Chokes up_ , a bit,

And then Billy’s right, _right_ there,

And he’s sighing, “oh, _baby,”_ and –

“I _know_ ,” Steve says, _and he_ – he feels _more_ than a _little stupid,_ he _does,_ but Billy’s been gone a _week_ and _Steve_ – Steve can’t pretend he’s not _a little_ , a little _upset_ , really, that he couldn’t come, and Billy had hedged around the reasoning behind not letting Steve come to Salem with him, had hemmed and hawed, until he’d snapped, “you’re not a _fuckin’ witch,_ Harrington, alright?” and they’d fought, and they’d made up, but Steve still felt,

Felt the way he had in the Hawkins High hallway, the day they fell apart, when Billy drove away,

And they’ve texted _every day,_

Facetimed,

Called,

But _now_ Steve can feel the balm of Billy’s magic,

And Fawcett gives a crooning, _soft_ call and clicks in her chest, and her honey-gold eyes are so gentle as they flicker over Steve, as he reaches up to stroke over her head,

And,

Then there’s the soft jangle of keys, _and_ \- Billy’s looking at Steve like he’s seeing him for the _first time_ , like he's lookin' at somethin' _divine_ , and Steve’s chest is packed with cotton when Billy shakes the keys to the Camaro, as he jerks his head towards the old car, says,

“C’mon, Cherry-bomb, lemme kidnap you,” and,

Steve has to _laugh_ , even though it _hurts_ a bit; it’s a _sharp_ , cutting kinda sound, and Billy’s lips curve into a wicked grin,

‘Cause that’s what Billy had _said,_

The first time he’d dragged Steve outta his house at three in the morning, when they were seventeen, eighteen, when he’d driven like a demon to the Quarry, hand clamped around Steve’s thigh, when they’d rutted in their jeans in the back of the car, mouths sealed together,

When Steve had almost let out a _burning,_ aching,

_I love you,_

And Billy drives like a demon _this time,_

And his runed hand is so fucking _warm_ where it grips Steve’s thigh,

Fire clutched just beneath his skin,

Fire that burns _all_ for _one Steve Harrington,_

Always _has,_

And Steve feels anger and fear start to unbury themselves from the mire of unknowing and _uncertainty_ in his gut, _as,_

Billy pulls into a little clearing just off the road,

And it’s rocky and forested,

_Dark,_

But it’s such a different kinda dark,

So different from that Hawkins kinda dark,

‘Cause it’s a _gentle_ kinda dark, the darkness that surrounds them like velvet in the Salem woods,

And Steve can _feel_ Billy’s magic,

And this is where he _belongs,_

And then Billy’s gentle hand is curling around the nape of his neck and Steve meets those blue eyes, bright and brilliant in the moonlight streaming through the leaves, and Billy thumbs over Steve’s lips, breath hitching a bit when Steve ducks to kiss over his palm,

And he _knows_ – knows he’s been _needy_ , knows he’s been fucking _clingy_ , these past three months, but _he can’t –_

“Kept waking up alone,” Steve murmurs, and Billy’s brow furrows, “kept _thinking about_ –“

“Mm, _nope,”_ Billy interrupts, and he sounds _hoarse,_ sounds – _husky,_ and when Steve meets his gaze, there’s a _hunger_ there, a ring of gold cuppin’ the blue, and then Billy’s popping Steve’s seatbelt and says, “backseat, Bambi, _now,”_ and,

Steve’s stomach is in his _chest_ as he hastens to obey, and then Billy’s clambering outta the front seat of the Camaro and Steve barely has time to toe outta his shoes before Billy’s there, _right_ there, before Billy’s pressing him back to the leather seats, before Billy’s sleep-stale, smoky mouth is _melting_ over his own,

And,

_Look,_

Steve _knows_ he’s been _needy,_

Been _clingy,_

But he spent five years _so_ long lost,

_Half-dead,_

And Billy’s _right,_

Right _here,_

And he kisses Steve like it’s been five years again,

Hand on Steve’s jaw,

Hips sliding _so_ sweet and so _right_ between Steve’s legs,

And,

Magic settles heavy and thick in the air, magic that unfurls from Billy’s bones, coaxed out by Steve’s hands, hands that slide up under the half-unbuttoned shirt half tucked into his jeans,

And Billy _groans_ against Steve’s mouth, and then there’s a fierce hand sinking into Steve’s hair and Billy smears his mouth over his jaw, as he snarls, “ _fuck,_ baby, it’s been _too goddamn long_ ,” and Steve feels the inferno that’s born between them, feels it when it blooms to life, and Billy’s palms are glowing as he bites down Steve’s throat,

And Steve thinks he might be glowing, too,

‘Cause he’s gonna fucking _combust,_ probably, and it’s only been a _week,_ but Steve shakes like it’s been _five years_ again, and Billy slides a possessive arm up under his back, pulls him up tight to his chest, and,

“Why didn’t you let me come _with you?”_ Steve asks, _all_ gravelly, all _stupid-in-love,_ all _clingy_ , all _needy,_ and Billy _whines,_ whines and sucks a hard bruise to Steve’s throat,

Says,

“Just lemme take _care’a you,_ baby,” _and,_

A _horrible_ thought occurs to Steve,

One that miraculously _hadn’t_ , previously,

One that _didn’t_ , until _now,_

And it slams through Steve like a _bullet,_

Hits him _so hard_ he _chokes_ with it,

‘Cause,

 _You’re not a fuckin’_ witch _, Harrington,_

And,

“Is there – _someone else?”_

‘Cause Steve _left him,_

Up and _left,_

Stayed gone for _five years,_

And he _missed_ Billy becoming a – _a witch,_

And Steve doesn’t know _shit_ about it, not as much as he _should,_

_And Billy –_

Billy goes _still,_

Tips back,

And Steve watches with suspended _rapture_ as those blue eyes _bleed_ gold,

As Billy’s nose furls,

As a sharp canine flashes,

And then Steve’s being kissed like Billy’s tryina rip him apart as Billy’s hand frames his throat, and Steve _gasps_ when Billy yanks his belt open, when he pops his jeans, when he cups his half-hard dick with a _burning_ , ember-clutchin’ hand,

And,

“Say that _stupid shit_ again, Harrington,” Billy growls, _right_ against his ear, “ _say it,_ say you think these hands have broken _anyone_ else, say it like you fuckin’ _mean it,”_ and,

Billy sounds _wrecked_ , sounds fuckin’ _furious,_ and the aura of fire leaking through the car makes Steve’s skin pepper with gooseflesh, makes his mouth _water,_ gets him so fucking hard it _hurts_ , and Billy’s shoving at his jacket as Steve grows _spikes,_ ‘cause it’s been a _week_ and Billy wouldn’t tell him why he was _leaving Steve behind,_

Even though Steve _deserves_ it,

And Steve’s growing _spikes_ as he says, “maybe you _should’ve,_ should’ve found a _witch_ , someone who _gets it_ , someone you don’t have to _leave behind,”_

And,

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Harrington,”

And,

 _“Make me_ , Hargrove,”

And,

“Didn’t wanna have to fuck you like I hate you after a week of not havin’ you, baby, but that was some _dumb shit_ you just said,”

And,

Steve _needs_ it,

_Needs –_

Billy biting, cruel and _angry_ at his throat,

_Needs –_

Billy shoving his shirt over his head,

_Needs –_

Billy stripping him outta his jeans, his boxer-briefs, the boxer-brief’s that’re _Billy’s_ , and Steve’s laying over Billy’s jean jacket, drove all the way to Massachusetts with Billy’s cologne under his nose and his clothes wrapped around him,

And Billy’s fully dressed between Steve’s thighs, is hard as fuck in his tight, _tight_ jeans, and he’s gripping Steve’s waist with brutal, burning hands as he laves his tongue over Steve’s throat, as he drags his teeth over Steve’s chin, as he drags a wrenching moan outta Steve’s gut with his pierced tongue, and,

“Gonna fuck that stupid bullshit _right_ outta you, Bambi,” Billy purrs, one hand gripping his waist, the other sliding over his throat, and it’s the _sweetest_ threat he’s ever fucking heard; Steve tangles desperate fingers through the golden chain around Billy’s neck, and Billy’s vibrating with magic, fire unfurling from his palms, and it’s _white,_ feels like _velvet_ where it sweeps over Steve’s wrists,

And then Billy’s moving to get the lube outta the glovebox,

And it’s lube _Steve_ bought, because Billy hadn’t had any in the glovebox when Steve checked last time they got all tangled up together in the Camaro, and Billy’d always had lube in the glovebox, back when they were seventeen, eighteen, but he _hadn’t,_ this time, ‘cause Steve _knows_ , knows he hasn’t put his hands on _anyone else,_

But maybe he _should,_

‘Cause Steve’s _needy_ and _clingy_ and doesn’t _get_ this _witch shit,_ not the way he _should,_

_And he fucking left,_

And he’s suddenly so goddamn angry, _furious_ with himself,

At himself for _ever leaving_ ,

For not _being there_ , being there while Billy coaxed _magic_ outta his bones,

As Billy walked the Upside-Down _alone,_

Carved paths of fire through _Hell,_

And _Steve’s –_

“You’re _shakin’,_ Bambi,”

And,

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “you scare the _shit_ outta me, Hargrove,” and,

Steve tangles their fingers up tight as Billy’s brow arches, furrows, as his jaw clenches, and those eyes are gold, and if they ever left him, Steve thinks he might, just, die,

‘Cause that’s how he felt those five years, when those blue eyes were lost to him,

All because Steve _left,_

And,

“You _should,”_ Steve breathes, ‘cause he _needs_ – “you should’ve found someone else,” and,

“I _left you,”_ and,

“I don’t _know_ this part of you,” and,

“And it’s _killing_ me, Billy, it’s fucking _killing me,”_ and,

Billy’s got a slick hand between Steve’s thighs as he _rambles_ , as he vomits out all the shit he’s been keeping in for a _week,_ for _two weeks,_ for a _month_ , for _three,_ and Billy sinks two fingers into him as Steve says the shit he’s been _swallowing down_ , pants hard and rough against Steve’s throat, against his cheek, and,

“Baby, _please,”_ and Billy sounds _wrecked,_ begs like he’s praying at the feet of some _God_ for _forgiveness,_ but it’s _Steve_ , Steve that needs forgiveness, ‘cause he _left_ , and Billy _groans,_ shakes with the sound, and Steve’s rife with a guilt he can’t chew through as Billy rips his belt open, as Billy’s lips melt against his own,

And Steve can’t chew through his guilt,

Can’t fight past his _fear,_

Lives inside _uncertainty,_

‘Cause he _doesn’t deserve this,_

Doesn’t deserve _Billy Hargrove,_

But he’s gonna hold on,

_Hold on,_

‘Cause he’s a _selfish,_

Cruel,

_Needy,_

Clingy _bastard,_

And Billy snarls, “ _stop that,”_ against his jaw, and,

“Reading my _fucking mind,_ now, Hargrove?”

“Don’t fuckin’ need to, _Harrington_ , know you’re all tangled up in your own bullshit in there,”

And,

It’s been a _week,_

And Billy’s talking _rough,_ talking like they’re in a _fight_ , and maybe they are,

But Billy’s got two fingers sunk into him and if they’re gonna _fight_ , Steve’s gonna _beg_ Billy to fuck him through it,

‘Cause _that’s just,_

How they’ve _always_ been,

How they’re always _gonna_ be, ‘cause –

“ _Only yours,_ Harrington, you fuckin’ _know that_ , have your stupid name branded on my rotten heart,” and,

“Only _ever_ been yours, the only place this cock’s _ever_ lived is in that _tight_ little ass, baby,” and,

“You’re _mine_ , you hear me, _all_ mine, even when you _can’t see me,”_

And,

Steve’s eyes burn as Billy rubs over his prostate, and he’s dripping sweat, Steve is, ‘cause Billy’s bleeding fire, and his eyes are gold as they rove over Steve’s face, as they drink him down with a greed that Steve feels furling low in his gut, and Billy’s sneering as he’s saying, right against Steve’s lips, “not an _idiot,_ Harrington, don’t fuckin’ _talk at me_ like one,” and,

“Know you want me _mad_ at you, baby, know you want me to fuck you like I _hate_ you,” and,

“I’m _gonna_ , ‘cause that was some _bullshit_ you just said,” but,

“You drove _all_ the way from Hawkins to get fucked like I _hate you_ , but you know I _love you_ , know I’m always _gonna_ love you,”

And,

It’s Steve’s turn to _sneer,_ nostrils furling, lip curling, ‘cause he’s furious with himself and he left Billy Hargrove alone for five years, so he’s growin’ spikes as Billy chuckles, all _dark,_ as he croons, “ _there’s_ my Cherry-bomb, c’mon, _fight back_ , baby, let’s get _stupid,”_

_So,_

“Couldn’t get it up for _anyone else_ , could you?” Steve asks, and he’s feelin’ some kinda _petty_ now, and Billy _laughs,_ laughs and bites at his throat, and there’s fire dripping from his fingertips, fire lacing down Steve’s forearms, and,

“Couldn’t get that dick up for anyone but _me_ , Hargrove, thought you were _hot shit_ , you know _half the school_ wanted to _choke_ on you, right? But it was _only me_ , only me who could get you off, _wasn’t it?”_

And,

“You’re _some kinda bitchy_ , Harrington, that _special_ kinda bitchy, couldn’t get it up for anyone else ‘cause no one else was this fuckin’ _bratty,”_

And,

“Gotta be some kinda _fucked up_ to want a bitch like me, Hargrove,”

And,

“You keep sayin’ _stupid shit_ to me, Harrington, and you’re not gonna cum tonight, not gonna cum for another _week,”_

But,

“Yeah I am,” Steve pants, and Billy puts his lips against Steve’s as the fat, blunt head of his cock presses against his barely-worked entrance, “ ‘cause you wanna _taste me_ , don’t you? Couldn’t get it up for anyone else, couldn’t _stand_ the thought of tasting anyone else,”

And,

 _“God_ ,” Billy moans, and the sound _rips_ through Steve, rips through him like the fire that’s literally _dripping_ from Billy’s _fucking tongue,_ “you’re such a fucking _brat_ , Bambi, makes me wanna live on my _goddamn knees,”_

And,

 _“Good,”_ and Steve’s head falls back as Billy shoves inside him, as Billy buries himself so deep Steve feels him in his goddamn throat; _“fuck,_ tiger, you’re so fucking _big_ , Jesus, never had _anyone_ as thick as you,”

And Billy’s laugh is _deadly,_ so fucking deadly, and Steve’s the only one in the world that could taunt him like this, could get him chewin’ through jealousy and not fear _burning_ for it, _but –_

He _does,_

Does _burn_ for it,

When he thinks about it,

‘Cause then Billy’s shoving his thighs back and he’s kissing Steve so hard his lip _splits,_

And he’s fucking into Steve like he’s gonna break his _goddamn spine,_

And fire bleeds outta the man that became magic when Steve wasn’t looking,

‘Cause Steve fucking left this fire-bloody, golden-eyed, sun-hearted beauty, left him _behind,_ and somehow, by _some miracle,_

That sunlit heart forgave him,

And while it hasn’t forgotten,

It’s vowed to love Steve so hard it could _kill him,_

_And Steve –_

Steve would _let it,_

‘Cause that’s the only thing that could _touch him_ , the only thing in the world that _could_ kill him now, the _only_ thing Billy Hargrove would _let_ kill one Steve Harrington,

Is the _love_ that pours outta Billy’s sunlit heart,

And Steve pulls the elastic outta Billy’s curls,  
Sinks desperate hands through ‘em, grips so hard it’s gotta _hurt,_

As Billy snarls,

“I _ever_ find out who they were, Bambi, I’ll turn ‘em _inside out_ ,” and,

“Anyone who fuckin’ _touched you_ , I’d set their bones on fire,” and,

“No one would remember their fuckin’ _names_ by the time I was done,” and,

Steve moans as that possession sears through him, and,

 _“Don’t_ – remember the names – _now_ ,” Steve pants, and Billy’s tongue is at his teeth as he rears back to look down at him, hand on Steve’s throat, and Steve’s chest heaves as he grips Billy’s arm, the tattooed arm, marked up with a halo around the blackened veins of the shadows the Upside-Down left in him,

And Steve slides his thumb over the shadows,

Meets those gold eyes,

 _Burns for_ –

“Would always pretend it was _you_ ,” and,

“ _I_ left the _first time_ ,” and,

“Thought maybe _you_ were pretending _I_ was someone else, when you left me, wouldn’t tell me _why,”_ and,

“Maybe had _someone_ , someone _better,”_

And,

He _burns_ for it,

As Billy _moans,_ moans like he had when he got _shot_ , when he took the bullet meant for _Steve,_ when they were seventeen, eighteen,

As his brow furrows _deep,_

As he fucks into Steve so hard it really does _hurt,_

As he forces Steve’s chin up, _up,_ until the tendons in his throat strain, and Billy bites at the porcelain column of his neck, bruises him up _so_ fine and _so_ sweet with those _sharp_ , firebrand teeth,

And guilt’s _pouring_ outta Steve, as he digs his heels into Billy’s ass and begs him to fuck him so hard it _hurts,_

And guilt’s _pouring_ outta Billy, as he utters an aching, “ _Steve,_ baby,” and his hips _stutter,_

And it’s been _three months,_

Three months after five years that felt like a hundred,

Three months of living half-suspended in a crumbling belief,

And Billy has been gone for a _week,_

Hadn’t let Steve _come with him,_

Wouldn’t tell him _why_ ,

And Steve wasn’t _here,_ wasn’t _there for Billy_ , wasn’t there to catch him at the ends of his swift, brutal descents into the _Otherworld_ , the world that shouldn’t exist but _did,_ the world that buried itself inside of _one Billy Hargrove_ , drawn to him ‘cause his spirit glowed brighter than the _sun,_ and,

Then there are strong, fire-laced fingers tangling between Steve’s, as Steve realizes his eyes are _stinging,_ as he realizes that Billy is _shaking,_

And Billy pins him to the leather,

And then he’s not _fucking_ him anymore,

‘Cause he’s coaxing _love_ into the body he was pretending to bury hate inside’a,

And Billy’s breathing _desperate_ and wet over Steve’s jaw, now,

Is smearing words against his skin,

Shit like,

“You _changed me_ , Bambi, I can’t even _pretend_ to want to hate you,” and,

“Wish you could _see_ how I feel, wish you could _reach into me_ ,” and,

 _“Maybe_ –“ and,

“ _Hold onto me,_ Stevie, hold onto me _tight,_ baby, _keep breathin’_ ,” and,

Steve slides his arms around Billy’s neck, as Billy takes a deep, shuddering breath, nose right behind Steve’s ear, and then his strong, ember-clutching hands are sliding around Steve’s ribs, his heavin’ ribs, and,

Magic _pulses_ through the car, fills the air like the fog that rolls off the Boston sea,

And –

_It’s,_

Steve –

He’s,

_It’s,_

A _hurricane_ slams,

 _Slams_ into him,

A hurricane of –

_Love,_

Jealousy,

_Pain,_

Aching, desperate _relief,_

Wild, feral _hunger_ ,  
 _Possessive_ , utter _obsession,_

And,

A _devotion,_

A devotion that unfurls like a _golden rose_ right under Steve’s heart,

And Billy’s moving _slow,_ so slow inside him, hand over Steve’s jaw as he hushes him so soft, ‘cause Steve’s panting through sobs like a _damn animal,_

As the _full_ inferno of Billy’s utter, absolute devotion _rips_ through Steve,

And,

_I’ll live and die burnin’ just for you, Steve Harrington,_

And,

“It _never_ changed,” Billy says against Steve’s ear, “you _changed me,_ Stevie, but even when I drove you outta my life, I still only knelt for _you_ ,” and,

“Never been brought to my goddamn knees in my fuckin’ life, Bambi,” but,

“I’d _live_ on my knees for you, needed you to _feel it_ , keep breathin’, baby, _there you go_ , there you are, I got you, sweetheart,” and,

Steve smears his cheek against Billy’s as he clings _so tight_ , as Billy fucks _deep_ and _possessive_ into him, as he fucks into him with the full brunt of the _devotion_ that sings like the wilds against his spine,

And Steve shuts his eyes,

Sees _gold_ ,

Smells the woodland, the gentle dark, the mournin’ ground,

Smells _fire,_

An endlessly,

Unstoppable fire,

And,

It burns _all for him,_

And,

“I’m _sorry,”_

And,

 _“Shh_ , baby, lemme take _care’a you_ , wanna make you sing, wanna taste you,”

And,

“Don’t make me go home alone,”

And,

“ _Never_ , baby, c’mon, look at me, keep those eyes on me, Bambi, there you are,” and,

“You’re _so_ goddamn _gorgeous_ , Stevie, never seen anythin’ so fuckin’ fine in my life,” and,

“Got _some kinda eyes,_ baby, always _have,”_ and,

“Jesus, that _mouth,”_ and,

Billy’s tongue unfurls into that mouth, and Steve slides a hand into Billy’s wild curls, so long now, long and beautiful, and pleasure is startin’ to bloom at the base of his spine, soothing the balm of his self-made pain, and Billy’s hands are so goddamn _healing_ , are some kinda _deliverance,_ as they sweep over Steve, as they stroke over his thighs, hitch ‘em up higher on Billy’s waist, as they grip his hips _so sweet_ ,

And the windows fog up as the ice of their half-assed fight melts, bows down to the flames flickering between Billy’s fingers, and Steve pants soft and quiet against Billy’s lips, gently shoves his shirt away from his golden shoulders to memorize the way the muscle rolls under his skin as he paints love inside Steve’s bones,

As the lingering echo of his emotion ripples through Steve like Billy’s sunk a stone into the stagnant pool of Steve’s uncertain belief,

And that stone anchors his belief right, right in the center of the devotion pouring outta one Billy Hargrove,

And,

Steve meets those eyes, gold gone _blue_ ,

And they’re the most beautiful blue he’s _ever_ seen,

And,

“ _I love you,”_ he breathes, and Billy’s face goes _so_ soft, so _raw_ , and Steve suddenly –

_He suddenly –_

“I’d _die_ for you, I’d fucking _die_ for you, Billy,” and,

“Would kill _anything_ that hurt you,” and,

“That’s why this is _killing me_ ,” ‘cause,

“I hurt you the _worst,”_ but,

“Never gonna let anything hurt you _again,_ Billy Hargrove, I _love you,_ gonna keep you _right_ this time, gonna show you how _good_ I can be, gonna be _so good_ to you,”

And,

“You always _had_ me, Bambi,” and,

“Kept me _so well,_ even when you were so far,” and,

“That’s it, baby, let it all out, _c’mon,_ I’ve _got you,_ always got you, gonna live on my damn _knees_ for you, gonna die _burnin’_ for you,” and,

This is the kinda love that could make the world _stop turnin’,_ if they bid it to,

If they bid it to, just so they could suspend themselves forever inside any number of perfect moments they’ve carved out between ‘em,

And Steve cums with Billy’s hand wrapped tight and possessive around his aching cock, cums with a keening hymnal of Billy’s name, and Billy _laughs,_ laughs against Steve’s cheek and then he’s burying his devotion between Steve’s thighs, fills him with _golden fire,_ and,

Then Billy’s propped against the door of the Camaro, and Steve’s between his thighs, and the window’s rolled down as Billy smokes a cigarette, and Steve slides his cheek over Billy’s bare chest, fiddles with the pendant on his neck,

And,

Then Billy’s sliding that golden chain around Steve’s throat,

And,

Steve looks up with burnin’ eyes,

‘Cause he knows this pendant was his mama’s,

One of the only things he’s got left of her,

And Billy strokes through Steve’s hair so the golden chain settles against his skin, and he presses the medallion gently to his sternum, then nudges Steve’s chin with a curled finger, ghosts his lips over his brow,

Says,

 _“Always_ with you, baby, even when you can’t see me,” and,

Steve can only shove up to kiss the smoke right outta Billy’s mouth, and Billy grins against him, grins and grips his nape with a possessive, protective hand,

And,

The heat of Billy’s body, of his _fire_ , keeps Steve _so_ warm, but Billy slides his jean jacket around him anyway, and they stay like that, nestled together in the back of the Camaro, buried in the woods, the wild, _wild_ woods, where the dark is _so gentle_ , until the first rays of sunlight are slicing through the amber leaves,

And,

“Why didn’t you want me to come?” Steve finally asks, fiddling with the pendant on his chest as Billy just, cards gentle fingers through his hair, and,

“There’s a lot to this shit I’m still figurin’ out myself, Bambi,” Billy says after a soft pause; “and it’s… it’s _a lot,_ baby, a lot to ask of a man so – so _soon_. To put up with… Everything that comes with being _what I am,”_

And Steve looks up, brow furrowing, and Billy rubs a fingertip over the crease in his skin, smiles gentle and so stupid in love,

“You thought I’d _run_ if I saw what all this really _meant?”_

“It’s _dangerous_ ,” Billy says quietly, “ _witch politics_ , Bambi… They’re not gentle. You got _outta_ this war, got _away_ from it. And here I am, draggin’ you _right_ back into danger, ‘cause I was born with this war already pullin’ at my stupid bones,”

And it –

It all makes so much _sense,_

‘Cause Billy always took too many hits meant for Steve, back when the war was just little battles fought in the Hawkins woods,

Back before the Upside-Down really meant _anything,_

And Steve feels _so stupid,_

Feels _selfish,_ ‘cause he hadn’t even _considered_ Billy might be _afraid_ , as afraid as he was,

And he surges up to kiss Billy, kisses him soft and _slow_ , deep, until Billy’s groaning against his tongue and his hands slide into his hair, and,

“Not goin’ anywhere, Hargrove,” Steve murmurs against his lips, and those blue eyes shine like the Boston sea when they rove over Steve’s face, and,

“Never goin’ anywhere _ever again_ , Billy,”

So,

They arrive at the Coven just as the sun is comin’ up proper, and Steve’s exhausted, _beyond_ exhausted, but Billy’s thrummin’ with some kinda energy, the kinda shit that makes Steve’s leg bounce and his stomach tight, and there’s a little black cat on the porch as they emerge from the Camaro, a sleek little thing with huge, huge green eyes,

And she peers curiously at Steve from the railing as he follows Billy towards the stone steps leading up to the deck,

Leaps down with a mewl when he nears,

And then she’s winding between his ankles, mewling _incessantly_ , and she looks at Billy, yowls, sounds like she’s – she’s scolding him, a little, and Billy huffs, looks both fiercely proud and dewy-eyed all at once as he says,

“She’s been waitin’ to meet you, I think. Sprinkles, this’s Stevie. Stevie, this is Sprinkles. She’s the Coven’s Familiar,”

 _Sprinkles_ , he thinks, wildly, and those green eyes look up towards him as Sprinkles mewls, rubs her face against his shin,

“They share one?” Steve asks, as Fawcett trills and sweeps down onto Billy’s shoulder, “I thought all witches had their own,”

“It’s _exceedingly_ rare,” and both of ‘em look ‘round then to find a squat, full-figured woman in the doorway of the white, spiky gothic house, a woman with tan skin and long, wild black hair, warm brown eyes hiding behind gold-rimmed glasses, and _Steve’s suddenly –_ suddenly _nervous,_ but then the woman _smiles_ , and her heart-shaped face glows, when she smiles, and,

“Was _wondering_ when you’d bring your boy ‘round, Billy Hargrove. Been keepin’ that sweet face from all of us, huh?”

And Steve’s chest goes warm as the woman sidles forwards, brown eyes peering up at him, and then she’s taking one of his hands, curling both of her own calloused ones around his, and she’s got a ring on every finger, and,

“ _Mmm_ ,” she hums, and then she looks towards Billy, says, “no _wonder_ your heart went with him, honey, he’s _all_ sunlight,” and,

“Stevie,” and Billy’s smile is _all_ fond, _all_ warm, _warm_ in the way it used to be whenever he got brave enough to talk about his mama, “this is Gretchen. Saved my sorry ass way back when.”

And Sprinkles _yowls_ from where she’s glued to Steve’s shin and Gretchen chuckles, a sound like an avalanche, and Steve’s a little thunderstruck, if he’s being honest, as she pats his hand and says, “she _always_ knows when someone’s got a good soul, honey. Welcome home,”

And it _hits him_ , hits him real hard in the _gut,_ and Steve says, “thanks for taking care of him,” a little thickly, and Gretchen winks, says, “doesn’t make it _easy_ , does he, your man?” and,

“ _Absolutely_ not,” Steve says automatically, and Gretchen laughs again, pats his cheek,

Says,

“Oh, I _like_ this one, darlin’, you need someone to keep you steady, need someone keepin’ those feet on the _right-side-up,”_

And Billy chews his cheek, chews on a grin as Gretchen moves towards the door, and then Billy moves close, slides a hand over Steve’s lower back, kisses his cheek, murmurs, “they always know better than me, _always,”_ and,

Steve tangles his fingers between Billy’s runed knuckles as Fawcett trills and cooes, as Sprinkles purrs like a cat three times her size and winds between their ankles,

And the foyer of the gothic house is – well,

It’s what Steve might’a expected,

‘Cause it’s all dark, dark wood floors,

All iron spires with huge, wax-weeping ivory candles,

All massive, sweeping stairwell with iron and gold all along the banister,

And it smells like incense and smoke,

And nestled up against the curve of the stairwell is a long, low table, draped with a deep crimson runner, the same crimson as the heavy drapes over the huge old windows,

And above it,

Looming above the altar, the altar littered with silver knives and bowls of herbs, with golden coins and goblets, a doe’s mossy skull,

Is a _huge_ , golden statue,

A statue of a man perched languidly on a stone carved with knots and swirls,

And he’s got a staff wrapped in ivy,

Long hair,

A strong chest,

Bands of gold around his arms,

And his head is crowned in a pair of _magnificent_ , arching stag horns.

“Cernunnos.”

And Steve looks around as Billy speaks, and the witch’s gaze is affixed over the effigy, who stares back with a serene, gentle kinda look about his gold-hewn eyes,

“God of the Hunt,” and it sounds rough, coming from Billy, and Billy looks – looks a little wild as he stares at the effigy, and Steve meets the god’s golden gaze, feels something stir deep in the pit of his gut,

 _“Is he_ , like,” Steve flounders as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end and Fawcett makes a low, curious clicking sound; _“like,”_

“The Patron of the Coven,” Billy finishes, squeezing Steve’s hand, “I’ll tell you all about it, Bambi, I promise,”

And Steve keeps the Horned God’s gaze as long as he can, as Billy coaxes him towards a corridor aside the foot of the stairwell, and then the Horned God is gone and they’re heading towards a huge, open kitchen, the kinda kitchen that has a fireplace big enough to stand in, an absolutely massive island of all sleek pale blue tile, a kitchen table of raw oak, herbs hanging from the high, white rafters,

And there’re other witches, at least a dozen other witches, all in various states of wakefulness, all in their pajamas, sleepy-eyed, talking soft amongst themselves where they lean against the counter, sit at the table, and,

Then there’s a slender, blonde woman moving towards them, all wrapped up in a gauzy nightgown in a pale violet, the same violet as her eyes, and Steve’s stomach bottoms out a bit when those violet eyes sweep over him, and Gretchen slides an arm around her tiny waist, kisses her cheek,

But those violet eyes don’t leave Steve,

And,

“So this is the boy who _left,”_ she says, lilting voice _just_ this side of chilly,

And Steve’s blood goes cold,

Then _hot,_

And Billy squeezes his hand like he can _feel it,_

“ _Selene_ ,” he says, _warningly,_ but the violet-eyed witch arches a brow, sharp jaw ticking, and Steve feels his hackles rising, ‘cause, yeah, he left, but she doesn’t _get to fucking_ – fucking _judge_ what she doesn’t _get,_ ‘cause Billy Hargrove was _always_ the home he’d come back to, _always_ , no matter how long it took, so,

“It’s fine, tiger,” Steve says, and he refuses, _refuses_ to break that _icy_ , shit-stirring stare, “it’s okay,” ‘cause,

This is _Selene_ , who gave Billy the blessed silver pot, the one that kept the worst of the Otherworld off’a them, off’a _Billy,_ when Steve wasn’t there to beat the bullshit away with the spiked bat,

And Selene specializes in _warding_ , Billy had told him,

So it makes _sense,_

Makes sense that she’d be _protective,_

And Steve _did_ leave,

But he’ll be damned if he lets this violet-eyed witch _scare_ him,

Be damned if he lets himself _waver,_

And Selene’s eyes narrow a little, as if she’s reading Steve’s thoughts, and, _fuck,_ maybe she _is,_ ‘cause then she’s moving towards him, and Billy tries to step between ‘em, but Steve moves first, and,

“If you hurt him _again_ , child,” Selene says, low, quiet, and Steve gets it, gets why Billy loves her, ‘cause she’s like Billy, Selene is, radiates that same kinda deadly, steel-hearted energy, “there will be _nowhere_ on earth you could run to. I will make you _suffer_ for it,” and,

“If I ever do,” Steve says, and he’s gotta have some of the King left in him yet, ‘cause he sounds like he’s about to call war; “I’d let you,”

And,

Selene watches him close for another moment, but Steve must’ve said the right thing, when he spoke the truth, because then her sharp features soften, and she _hums_ , asks, “how do you take your coffee, Mr. Harrington?” and,

They end up on the back deck of the estate, huge mugs of hazelnut coffee in hand, and Billy seems so – fucking relaxed, so relaxed it’s sorta makin’ Steve anxious, if he’s honest, ‘cause Billy’s never this relaxed, not even at home, their home, the one they made, the one Billy etched magic into to keep ‘em safe,

And Gretchen starts to pester Billy about some _rite_ they’re doing the night of the solstice, and Billy groans, rolls his head back and says, “Gretch, I’ll _get to it_ , I _just –“_

And,

Steve watches Selene, as Selene smokes a cigarette across the deck, looking all the world like a queen as she leans against the wrought-iron railing, Sprinkles perched near her elbow, and the Coven’s Familiar watches Steve right back, _mewls,_ and then Selene’s violet eyes swivel towards him,

And,

These are the women that _took care_ of Billy when Steve left him in the dark,

So Steve braces himself,

Thinks of the fact that Billy Hargrove has walked the Upside-Down, walked it so many times it knows the cadence of his heartbeat,

Walked it so many times he’s _kept_ a piece of it,

And,

_Wanna always keep learnin’ about you, though,_

So,

Steve sidles towards Selene, leans against the railing next to her, and when she offers out her cigarette, he takes it, takes a drag, then hands it back and coughs, a bit, ‘cause it’s strong, and Selene’s lips curve around the filter,

“I think he’s crazy, too,” Steve murmurs then, and he can feel Selene’s eyes on his face, “for taking me back, I mean.”  
And they’d _just_ fought it out, _fucked_ it out, but Steve _knows_ it’ll take more than that, will take time, _and,_

“He never let you _go,_ child,” Selene says, words curling through the smoke, and Steve feels ‘em like it, “I remember when we discovered what it was that was hiding in him, the magic in his bones,”

And,

Selene pauses for a moment, as Billy’s laugh cracks across the deck, and Steve looks around to see him surrounded by a few other witches now, witches he doesn’t know yet, and this world has been the one that let Billy grow up, been the world that let him heal, and Steve was the one that broke him,

“He got a text,” Selene says then, and Steve’s stomach clenches, “and the fire just – “

She shakes her head, eyes long lost across the sprawling Coven grounds, affixed over the auburn trees swaying in the distance,

“It was from you,”

And Steve _knows_ that, knows Selene knows he knows it,

“He spent the next _seven days_ in the Otherworld,” the violet-eyed witch says then, “in the place you call the _Upside-Down_. He was a wild, _feral_ little thing when I finally pulled him out. But he did not come out unscathed,

“And I _did_ blame you, Mr. Harrington,” Selene says, somber, and Steve’s throat hurts as he grips the metal railing of the deck, and then Sprinkles rubs her head against his forearm and he scratches numbly at her ears; “I blamed you, and he kept on loving you, and he came out of the Otherworld with the mark of it in him, but it did not kill him.”

“Should it have?” Steve demands, throwing Selene a wide-eyed look, and she arches a brow,

“You’ve seen it,” she says then, “the mark on his arm. That poison should have chewed _through_ him, should have turned him into something _unrecognizable_ , something _beyond_ saving. But it didn’t. It just – held itself still. And he kept loving you.”

And Steve feels like he’s got a goddamn _cannonball_ in his chest as he looks towards Billy, who glows gold in the early sunlight; he leans nonchalantly back in a deck chair, Fawcett on his shoulder, and he’s chatting with a woman with red, curly hair as he scratches at Fawcett’s chest,

And he’s _golden,_

Beautiful,

_Remarkable,_

And,

“This Coven will one day be his,” Selene says then, and Steve looks quickly towards her as she watches him _, serene,_ shrewd; “there is danger in this life. He will always walk half in the shadows, will always be a wild thing. There is… something _different_ about William, something…”  
And she purses her lips, violet eyes swiveling to where Billy sits with Fawcett on his shoulder,

“Powerful,” she finishes quietly, and Steve knew that, knows it, ‘cause Billy Hargrove’s always been like that, been a force that ripped through his life like a fuckin’ nuke, and he’s been thriving in the goddamn fallout ever since,

“And so are _you_.”

Which,

 _“What?”_ Steve asks, a little stupidly, he knows, but; “I can’t do _any_ of the shit he can, are you joking? I mean, I’m not – not _entirely_ useless in a fight, but, _fuck,_ there’s no fuckin’ way I’m _anything_ like any of you, _I’m just –_ Steve Harrington, I’m just a kid from Bumfuck, Indiana,“

And Selene’s smiling now, smiling like she knows something he doesn’t, which sorta sets his damn teeth on edge, and then the witch tilts her head and her gaze softens, as she says,

“There is _power_ in the sway you hold over William. And even if it is not a visible fire, _power_ is _power._ That boy is something _different -_ and _you_ are the one who holds that savage, different little heart _right_ in your hands,”

And Selene’s gaze is _knowing_ but _questioning_ all at once as she takes both of his hands between her own, as she cups them between her warm, soft palms, _and –_

“What will you do with that power, Mr. Harrington? What will you do with the _sway_ you hold over that wild little thing?”

And,

Steve lets Selene’s gaze pierce right to the core of him, lets her hold his hands between her delicate, porcelain palms, then Billy whistles, sharp and high, and,

“Oy! _Harrington!”_

And it’s like he’s sunk hooks around Steve’s spine,

And Selene’s gaze is knowing as Steve slips his hands gently from her grasp,

And he feels the way it’s a knowing edged in questions as Steve turns, as he turns to find those blue, _blue_ eyes set over him, and Billy’s _smilin’_ so _easy,_ smilin’ at him like he’s the _finest fuckin’ thing_ in this house of extravagant things,

And Steve meets a handful of the people that became the family Billy always deserved,

Meets,

_Yue,_

_Ginger,_

_Vera,_

_Timothy,_

_Victor,_

_Portia,_

_Caden,_

_Sarah,_

And,

He learns there’s over two dozen witches that live inside this house full of extravagant things,

And Billy keeps Steve glued to his side as they all sit out on the back deck, and Steve can feel those blue eyes on him as he listens to Yue tell a story about Billy makin’ a deal with a satyr,

‘Cause _satyrs_ and _fae_ and _elves_ are fuckin’ _real_ ,

And Billy –

Billy’s _different,_

And Steve always knew that,

But,

_There is power in the sway you hold over William,_

And,

_What will you do with that power, Mr. Harrington?_

Which,

He _knows,_

Knows that all he _can_ do,

All he’s _ever_ wanted to do,

Is to _love_ Billy Hargrove as _fierce_ and _well_ as he can,

As well as Billy Hargrove deserves,

And they spend the day lazing about the back deck, until Billy gives him the tour, and Steve gets lost in the library until Sprinkles comes to lead him right back to where Billy’s gotten lost in a leather tome in a language Steve doesn’t understand,

And Steve gets to see the room that’s become Billy’s, in the house that’ll one day _be_ Billy’s,

The room he’s been in, up until this moment, _without_ Steve,

With its dark mahogany floors,

With its heavy, blood-red curtains,

With the massive, curtained four-poster against the far wall, crowned in a wide set of half-moon windows,

And the red sheets are stained with spunk and _reek_ like Billy, and Steve buries his face in a pillow as Billy fucks slow and deep into him from behind, hands wrapped so sweet around Steve’s hips,

Inhales as much of the scent of _home_ as he can,

And,

Steve _can’t sleep,_

So he _watches_ Billy,

Who looks _so_ peaceful like this,

Laid out on his back, golden chest rising, falling,

Golden curls spilling over blood-red,

Moonlight pouring over his face,

The face Steve saw whenever he shut his eyes, those five years he spent _lost,_

And it’s not until the _exact moment_ he reaches out to put a hand over Billy’s heart, marked by the _S_ that’s the _X,_

That the _full_ weight of _belonging_ slams with the force of a _hurricane_ into him.

And,

_It’s all intention, Bambi,_

And Steve chokes on a little gasp, chokes on the sensation of _rightness_ that shudders through his bones,

As he _feels_ the cadence of the life pounding through the golden body beside him,

As he smells the _heat_ of his skin,

As he hears the rush of blood through his _sunlit_ veins,

As Steve _feels_ Billy all around him, feels him like he does when Billy fucks him _so_ sweet, _so_ brutal, _so_ fine,

And,

_Power is power,_

_What will you do with the power you hold?_

And,

Fawcett trills on her perch, and Steve can _barely fuckin’ breathe_ as he slides over Billy, still _sound_ asleep,

As one Steve Harrington is _gripped_ by some kinda _possession,_

As he’s _ripped_ open by the full weight of a _belonging_ he’s not felt,

_Ever,_

In his _stupid life,_

By an _understanding,_

By a _power,_

And,

_Power is power,_

_What will you do,_

_What will you do with the power –_

_You hold sway over –_

_He kept loving -_

And Steve _groans_ , groans against Billy’s cheekbone, and Fawcett shuffles over her perch, clicks and croons, almost purrs, and Billy shifts as Steve splays shaking fingertips over his jaw and turns his face towards him, as Steve ghosts his lips over Billy’s, sleep-sticky, _warm_ ,

And,

He traces –

Traces the scars,

The scars that lace the little wild thing beneath him,

The _holy_ little thing,

And Steve traces the scars over Billy’s chest, the ones he got when he got between Steve and a ‘gorgon,

Traces the needle-like marks over his ribs, from when he tackled a demo-dog that went for Steve,

The puckered scar on his hip when he shoved Steve outta the way, got shot, took a bullet for him,

And Steve’s eyes are burning as he exhales, shaky and thick, and then he’s tracing the sharp S on Billy’s chest,

And it _hadn’t hit him,_ that – that _belonging_ , that sense of _rightness,_

Not until he reached out to touch the heart that beat _all_ for him,

And,

It’s hitting Steve _now,_

As he noses over Billy’s jaw, breathes hard and _heavy_ , traces the _S_ that marks the _X_ of Billy’s gold-laced heart,

And,

Steve gentles his face towards him,

Presses his mouth _full_ to Billy’s, drinks in the wakening exhale Billy growls out,

And,

_“Bambi,”_

And it comes out _sleep-rough_ , hoarse, and then those blue eyes flutter open, and Steve feels like he’s been punched in the fucking throat as he swallows Billy’s _soft_ moan when he seals their mouths together proper, swallows the moan that _rips_ down Steve’s spine like whiskey-fire, and,

It’s like the _sweetest_ , most _pleading_ kinda prayer,

And,

Billy slides his hands up Steve’s arms, and the runes on his knuckles shimmer, and Steve thumbs over the mark the Upside-Down burnt into Billy’s skin, the mark that tried to turn him into a monster, but he never _could be_ , ‘cause Billy Hargrove was born with the _sun_ in his mouth, and,

There’s some kinda wild unfurling low in Steve’s gut,

Some kinda _feral,_

Some kinda _savage,_

And Billy’s a _wild_ thing, always has been,

But Steve Harrington was _always_ the one the wild thing knelt to,

The one the wild thing chewed through the world for,

The one the wild thing bled itself dry for,

And,

_What will you do with that power, Mr. Harrington?_

And all Steve’s _ever_ wanted was to love one Billy Hargrove as _well_ and _fierce_ as he could,

 _So_ ,

Steve kisses Billy until Billy’s panting against his tongue, until Billy’s hard against his hip, until Billy’s _keening_ , soft and quiet, tight and tense, keening, “ _Stevie_ ,” and,

“ _Right here,_ tiger,” Steve breathes, and he’s _shaking,_ vibrating with a kinda _possession,_ the kinda shit that has him convinced he’s about to _shed his skin_ , and Billy’s hands slide into Steve’s hair, hips cresting up with a _need_ that Steve tastes like _honey_ at the back of his tongue, and,

“Those tears I’m feelin’, Bambi?”

“Yeah,”  
“ _Baby,”_

“Love you,” Steve murmurs, and he’s _never_ been a gentle crier, not like Billy, but this isn’t a normal kinda weepin’, not this _holy_ , reverent, _silent_ shit – Steve looks down at Billy, diamonds drippin’ from his eyes, the eyes that _always_ saw Billy’s face when they slid shut, the eyes that’ll go dark lookin’ at his face, _and,_

“Gonna _show me_ , Cherry-bomb?” Billy rasps, and then he’s reachin’ for the lube and his white teeth flash, and _Steve can’t_ – can’t _look away from him_ , ‘cause Billy’s the most _beautiful,_ viciously _wild_ little thing he’s _ever seen_ , and Steve can _barely breathe_ with the _need_ he feels, the need to tuck him _away_ , the need to rip through _anything_ that’s _ever_ hurt him,

Even _himself,_

And,

_Power is power,_

_What will you do –_

_He kept loving –_

_He is different –_

And,

_Steve feels –_

Feels like,

Feels –

_Powerful,_

As,

He frames Billy’s jaw,

Gazes down at the face he’ll _die_ lookin’ at,

Somehow _knows_ he’ll _die_ lookin’ at that face,

_And,_

The full brunt of the _belonging_ brings with it a sensation of _power_ unlike _anything_ he’s ever felt,

And he _loves_ Billy Hargrove better than _any_ soul _ever could,_

Even if he _left,_

Even if he was _lost_ ,

‘Cause Billy Hargrove was _always_ the true north he’d come right back to,

And Billy’s eyes burn with gold as Steve coaxes his mouth open, thumb pressed to the corner, and then Steve’s breathing the air from Billy’s lungs as he wedges his hips between Billy’s thighs, as he pops the lube with one hand, squeezes out way too much over his fingers, and,

Billy moans like it’s _deliverance_ when Steve sinks two fingers _right_ into the tight clutch of his body,

When Steve frames his throat with one hand,

Fucks into him with the other,

_And,_

Billy grips Steve’s forearm with both hands, strokes up and down his skin so sweet, so reassuring, as he croons, “ _that’s it,_ Bambi, _fuck yeah_ ,” and,

“Wanna cum on those fingers first, baby, want you strokin’ it outta me,” and,

“You feel _so good,_ Stevie, touch me like _no one_ ever could, _only one_ to _ever_ touch me like this,”

And,

“ _Only one_ who ever _will,”_ Steve says, voice gone sideways, and Billy _moans,_ gives a high, throaty little whimper when Steve curls his fingers and rubs with purpose over his prostate, and,

He’s gonna milk everything he can outta the little wild thing beneath him, the little wild thing that looks at Steve like he’s some kinda holy, blue eyes bleedin’ gold, all for him, and the fire that licks up between Billy’s fingers where they grip his arm is _all_ for Steve, _burns_ to the cadence of Steve’s heartbeat,

And,

Billy might be a little _wild thing,_

But Steve’s got some kinda _steel_ in him _yet,_

Some kinda _ivory,_

Some kinda _horned_ ,

War-chargin’,  
 _Brutal,_

Everlasting,

 _Ancient_ shit,

Some kinda feral _calling,_

And Steve can _feel_ that call as he drinks down the sweet sounds fallin’ off’a Billy’s wicked tongue,

And,

_What will you do with that power?_

“Billy,” and Steve’s throat _aches_ with it, _aches_ as he spills a _burnin’_ hymnal, _the hymnal of,_ “marry me, tiger, say you’ll _marry me_ ,” and,

“I love you, you’re _everything,_ all I’ve _ever_ wanted,” and,

“Want _all of you_ , everything you’ve got,”

And,

Billy’s gold eyes flash and his hands spasm against Steve’s arm, and then Billy’s dragging him in, and he’s panting hard and quick against Steve’s teeth, against his mouth, and Steve’s milkin’ him for _all he’s worth_ , and he’ll ask it _again_ , ask it when he’s not makin’ Billy _writhe_ , when he’s not knuckle-deep in his body, and,

He’ll ask again,

And Billy will repeat,

 _“Yes,_ Bambi, _fuck,_ yes, would marry you _right fuckin’ now,”_

And,

Steve fucks into Billy’s mouth with a desperate tongue, a tongue sticky with the sweet residue of a burnin’ hymnal, and Billy’s hips crest as Steve adds a third finger, sinks it into him and rubs against the little bundle of nerves inside’a Billy that makes him growl and whimper and sob with need, makes his cock weep over his belly,

And Steve can _smell him,_

Smells the sheer _need_ bleedin’ outta him,

And his spine is searing white-hot as he watches Billy’s face contort with an aching, _breaking_ pleasure, as his chest hitches with _gasping_ breaths, and Steve can’t even feel his own need as he soaks in Billy’s, as he fingers him until Billy’s crying out, _“Steve,”_ all _rough_ , all _harsh_ , and he cums _dry,_ cock _jumping,_ pulsing hard over his stomach, and Billy’s hands are all _white fire_ as they twist into the sheets, and,

“Hold on, tiger,” Steve breathes, and he sinks down, possessed, _obsessed,_

Slides his hymnal-burnin’ tongue over the brutalized line of Billy’s untouched dick,

And Billy _sobs,_ swears and tries to twist away, but all Steve has to do to keep him still is splay a gentle, _devoted,_ bat-calloused hand over his belly, and Billy goes _still,_ save for the way he _strains_ as Steve takes his cock into his mouth,

And he’s _rambling,_ Billy is, as Steve fucks gentle into him with his fingers and sucks at his aching dick, says shit like,

 _“Fuck,_ Bambi, it _hurts_ , hurts so goddamn _good_ ,” and,

“You break me _so sweet_ , baby, love the way you _ruin me_ , fuck, that _fuckin’ mouth,”_ and,

“That mouth was _made_ for stretchin’ around this cock, Stevie, wish you could fuckin’ see what you _look like_ , fuck, _fuck_ , just like that, _fuck_ –“

And,

Steve _drags_ white heat outta Billy with a demanding, _hymnal-sticky_ tongue as Billy lets out a deep, _growling_ moan, back arching like a bow, head thrown back, knuckles bleached white under the fire lickin’ up outta his palms with how tight he fists the sheets,

And Steve swallows him down, the sweetest, _finest_ liquor he’s _ever_ tasted, keeps suckin’ at Billy until he’s soft; Steve laves his tongue over him when he is, again and again, until Billy’s _shakin’,_ truly shakin’, until he’s _begging,_ “Steve, _fuck,_ baby, please, it _hurts_ , hurts, baby, _c’mon,”_ and,

That’s when Steve slides his fingers outta him,

When Steve slicks himself up,

And then Billy’s keening, breathes, “oh, _thank you,_ baby, _fuck,”_ as Steve slides into the tight, hot, wet clutch of his body,

That _coveted,_

_Revered,_

_Holy,_

_Worshippin’_ body,

And as they become _one_ ,

Billy’s eyes glow _gold,_

And Steve laces their fingers together, sinks his hands into the fire,

Holds it between their palms,

Could never be afraid of gettin’ burnt,

‘Cause Steve Harrington burns _already,_

Burns with hymnals,

Burns with devotionals,

With prayers,

With pleas,

All for _one Billy Hargrove_ ,

_Would live on my knees for you, gonna die burnin’ for you,_

And Billy hasn’t knelt for _anyone else_ , not for;

The father that tried to break him,

The Upside-Down that tried to take him,

The ancient things that tried to shake him,

But he sank to his knees _so_ willingly, all for _one Steve Harrington,_

Laid his _devotion_ right at Steve’s feet,

And if that isn’t power,

Then _nothing_ is,

And,

_What will you do with that power?_

“Marry me,” Steve breathes, _commands,_ and he fucks into Billy with all the desperation of a penitent zealot, hellbent on paintin’ that penance on a soul he ruined so cruelly, “marry me, Billy Hargrove,” and,

 _“Yeah,”_ Billy pants, _harsh_ and _ragged_ , and his hand curls around the nape of Steve’s neck, and he drags him down for the kinda kiss that feels the way tears look, “ _yeah,_ baby, yeah,” and,

Billy’s fingers tangle through the golden chain around Steve’s neck,

And it’s better than _any_ ring,

A _promise,_

A promise of,

_Always yours,_

_Even when you can’t see me,_  
And,

“ _That’s it_ , Bambi,” Billy moans, high and reedy, _“oh,_ fuck, you’re so fuckin’ _good,_ baby, feel you in my _throat,_ wanna taste you _so bad_ , fuck,” _and,_

They’re all sweat, all fire, and Steve laves his tongue over Billy’s clenching abs, over the swell of his chest, nibbles at a pebbled nipple and drags his hands down his arms, slides ‘em over his waist, grips his rollin’ hips,

Grips ‘em _hard,_

Harder than he _ever_ has,

And Billy _groans_ with it, breathless, _gasping_ pants fallin’ from his tongue, and his golden curls cling to his damp throat, and Steve bares his teeth against Billy’s sternum _as,_

 _Desperate_ hands curl into his hair,

_As,_

The coil at the base of his spine gets _so_ fuckin’ tight,

_As,_

Billy breathes, “ _Steve,”_ and,

A calloused hand slides under Steve’s chin,

And Billy gentles Steve up,

And Steve lets their mouths _melt_ together as the coil _snaps,_

As Billy digs his heels into his ass, keepin’ him locked _tight,_

And Steve spills his load buried _so_ fuckin’ _deep_ inside of that coveted, holy _, revered_ body,

The body that burns _all_ for one Steve Harrington,

Only _ever_ has,

And,

“ _Marry me,_ tiger,” Steve breathes,

And when a holy thing utters a _command,_

The zealot kneelin' at their feet _says,_

“Yeah, baby, _okay,”_

**Author's Note:**

> songs:  
> ain't nobody - clare maguire  
> babylon - barns courtney  
> holy water - freya ridings


End file.
